


How to Win Friends and Influence People

by adjourn



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Cock Worship, Face-Fucking, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, a little bit, also just a lil bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjourn/pseuds/adjourn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been at sea for the better part of two weeks now, and Connor is a tad on-edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Win Friends and Influence People

**Author's Note:**

> connor needs to not try and justify incest and i need jesus  
> or at least the holy ghost idk

 

 

 

 

They've been at sea for the better part of two weeks now, and Connor is a tad on-edge. He's never been on a ship for a prolonged period of time, and though the salty breeze and the coolness of the sea is welcome enough, the idleness of travel is nearly enough to make him want to dive off the side of the Aquila and simply swim alongside it. Obviously, though, that would be an absurd course of action, so Connor settles for climbing about the ship's rigging, frequently perching himself upon the mast to practice footwork.

He has on occasion invited Haytham to join him as a show of good will. Despite the fact that neither of them are particularly thrilled with the idea of cooperating with each other, it is without a doubt an efficient, sensible venture. And the more Connor thinks about it (though he has thought about it quite a bit throughout the years, staring up at the portrait on Achilles' wall with an odd mixture of loathing and longing), the more he is interested in getting to know who his father really is. The more curious he is about the man beneath the pomp and circumstance and steely glare. He wants to become closer with Haytham, or at the very least find out more about him. Actually, definitely the latter. The day Connor admits he has some misguided desire for an emotional bond with a Templar is the day he becomes one himself.

In any case, it is this curiosity, combined with a sort of restlessness that thrums just beneath his skin, that drives Connor to slip into Haytham's quarters one evening after dinner when most of the crew is distracted by merriments and drinking. Haytham has stayed out of the way of the Aquila's crew (who are technically Connor's men), so Connor is expecting to find him in his room, likely scratching away at his journal or polishing his hidden blades. He is not disappointed.

"Connor," Haytham sets down his quill and greets him cordially. The barest hint of surprise colors his tone. "What are you doing here? I can't imagine you've made progress on our search whilst in the middle of the ocean."

Connor closes the door behind him. "No, Father. I actually just wished to speak to you."

Haytham sighs. "This isn't about sparring atop the mast again, is it? You must think I'm a bloody fool if I'm going to practice with my enemy." He fixes Connor with a superior look. "You haven't forgotten that we are two opposing sides of a war just because we're blood relation, have you?"

"Of course not," Connor says indignantly. And alright, maybe what Haytham said about the sparring is right. But it gets so dull out here, after so long.

"Good. I'm not sure where you'd inherit such an awful sense of sentiment anyway. God knows Ziio wasn't so emotional either," he adds in a murmur, almost wistful. But not quite.

"I've never forgotten that you're a Templar," Connor huffs. "And I will never understand it, too. Can't you see that the order you hope to achieve is simply—"

"I'd rather not get into that right now, if it's quite fine with you," Haytham says with visible irritation. "I tired of these arguments about a week ago. I've mostly resigned myself to the fact that there will be no getting through your thick skull."

"My thick skull?" repeats Connor, affronted. And then very abruptly he remembers what he came to do. "Well, I didn't come to argue either," he admits. "I was hoping we could do something else."

"Speak, wasn't it? What do we have to discuss exactly?"

Connor pauses. "Perhaps 'speak' isn't the right word." He makes several long strides over to his father, who is watching him with increasing bemusement. Soon, he is standing over Haytham, cataloguing the symmetric sharpness of his features and the unusually open way he looks, hat off and cloak set aside. He is very handsome, Connor thinks. Of course, this isn't the first time he has thought so.

"What are you doing, boy?" Haytham makes a move to stand, and though Connor would be pleased with how close together it would bring them, it isn't exactly what he has in mind. So he lightly pushes Haytham's down again by his shoulder — more of a suggestion than anything else — and is satisfied when the man settles back without verbal complaint.

"I wanted to get to know you better, Father," Connor says. And then he slowly, deliberately sinks to his knees.

" _What_ are you doing?" Haytham says again, this time far more stricken. Connor slides his hands onto his father's thighs and blinks, questioning.

"What do you mean?" Connor asks. "Is it not clear?" He palms the front of Haytham's trousers, in case the man has indeed misunderstood his intentions, but Haytham quickly swats his hand away.

Connor glares at him. "What are _you_ doing?"

"You're the one who is propositioning me right now," Haytham says incredulously.

"I only wish to become better acquainted with you. This will ease the tension."

"Clearly, I was mistaken earlier. Your folly seems to be _forgetting_ that we're blood-relation," Haytham says through gritted teeth.

"I don't understand the problem," Connor says, furrowing his brow in puzzlement. "It's not as though you raised me."

"That doesn't make it any better," protests Haytham.

"We are both killers. This seems like a very odd, particular thing to be wrong," Connor says. After a slight pause, he adds, "If you're worried you won't enjoy yourself, I promise that I'm very good at it. Norris told me so."

Haytham's expression suddenly grows menacing. "Norris? Who is that?"

"A friend of mine at the homestead. We occasionally do this, though I think now that he and Myriam are together he would rather not," Connor contemplates. "But it was...fun. I do not often have time to have fun."

"Myriam? You know what—never mind. Your incestuous homestead," Haytham winces, realizing his word choice. "It's none of my concern."

"No, it is not," Connor agrees. He carefully settles his hands back onto Haytham's thighs, and smiles a bit when there is no motion to remove them. "I've learned very much there, though. If you would like me to show you, Father?"

Haytham hesitates; Connor knows he'll say yes now, with some persuasion. He rubs unhurried circles into Haytham's inner thigh.

"I'm still not entirely sure on your reasoning for this," Haytham says, but his eyes darken when Connor's fingers tug at the laces of his trousers, and he stays very, very still.

"I will demonstrate," says Connor. "We'll know each other rather well by the end of this."

He draws Haytham's cock out of his pants and is flattered to see that he's half-hard already; Connor licks his palm and strokes him a few times, swipes his thumb over the head. He admires its pink, flushed color, and the pretty way it curves up toward Haytham's stomach. His mouth waters slightly and he bites his lip in anticipation, inhaling.

"Well, boy? If you're going to do this, then get on with it," says Haytham. But his voice is definitely hoarser than usual, and Connor almost makes a smug comment about it. Almost. He has other things occupying his attention.

"Of course, Father," Connor says, voice husky. He maintains eye contact as he presses his lips to the tip of Haytham's cock, then places delicate kisses to the shaft. When he uses his tongue to lick at the sides in long swipes, he breaks away from Haytham's gaze in favor of watching his cock and the pearly white fluid that beads at the top. Connor wraps his lips around the head and sucks softly to get a taste, shivering in pleasure when he feels it twitch against his lips.

Bracing one hand at the base, Connor slowly takes the rest of Haytham's cock into his mouth, keeping his tongue pressed to the underside. A breathy moan escapes his father when Connor begins bobbing his head up and down, muffled by the obscene, wet sounds of Connor's mouth. He can hear the laughter of the Aquila's crew through the wooden walls, but it, too, is drowned out by the slick slide of Haytham in his mouth.

Having apparently relinquished all inhibitions now, Haytham runs a hand through Connor's hair, just a warm touch, and then Connor relaxes his throat, slides down even further until his nose is nearly touching his father's stomach.

Haytham groans unabashedly, a low but quiet sound that makes Connor whine in response and push his hips upward. He brings one hand to palm himself through his breeches, but doesn't go any further than that. Connor knows that he can nearly come just from the weight of a pretty cock on his tongue, hot and heavy in his mouth — and his father is a very handsome man with a very handsome cock.

Connor gets flushed all over when Haytham grips his hair even tighter, and a very appealing idea comes to him; he pulls off Haytham's cock with a filthy _pop_. He looks up at Haytham and says through pants, almost pleadingly, "Will you fuck my mouth, Father?"

His father just looks at him for a moment, perhaps a bit dazed.

"Since you asked so nicely," says Haytham finally, breathlessly.

He draws Connor toward his cock again, and this time Connor slides down in one smooth motion, and then Haytham is pulling him back up, and down, and hitting the back of his throat as he fucks Connor's face. His jaw is sore and saliva drips from the corner of his mouth and his dick is leaking in pants and it's _wonderful_. Haytham groans, rather loudly this time.

"Fuck," he says. "Do you think the crew heard that? Perhaps they did."

Connor whimpers slightly.

"You dirty boy. Do you like the thought of that? Of them all knowing you're here, choking on a man's cock like a common whore?"

Connor can't exactly nod his assent, so he just whines — a desperate, pathetic noise.

"You are a whore, aren't you? Just look at you, Connor. You love this." Haytham sounds almost stunned. His thrusts grow steadily rougher, and Connor is just waiting, just waiting for his father to come because he can barely hold himself together.

He doesn't have to wait for long. A few more thrusts and then Haytham is coming down his throat; Connor pulls off so that some catches on his face, splatters across his lips and cheekbone, and then laps and sucks at Haytham's cock for the rest. He slides his hands into his breeches and only has to stroke himself a few times before he's done, too, he's been so painfully hard this whole time. Connor moans as he comes, shaking with the force of it, and then Haytham is drawing him up into his lap and kissing him, swallowing his lingering whimpers.

They kiss for a while, both dizzy with bliss, until Connor pulls back to catch his breath and calm his thudding heart. He presses their foreheads together and smiles at his father, who is absentmindedly rubbing his back, in a soothing up-and-down motion.

"Well, I'd say we do know each other a bit better now," Haytham says. "Perhaps not in the way you meant though."

"No?" says Connor. "I suppose, Father, that we should try again then."

Haytham turns his face to the side and laughs lightly. "I suppose we should."

**Author's Note:**

> the historical accuracy of pants gave me such anxiety. and then i decided that i just couldn't be bothered, which coincidentally enough is also my policy on proper morals


End file.
